


everything about everything about love

by guide_to_the_galaxy



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: A whole lotta love, Little shorts combined into one, Look at each as you want just enjoy the love, Multi, Super fluffy and kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guide_to_the_galaxy/pseuds/guide_to_the_galaxy
Summary: In this universe there are many, infinite unknowns. But in theirs there is a constant, and it does wonderful, impossible things. It is love.





	everything about everything about love

**Author's Note:**

> for this theme I wanted to play on many characters’ interactions and just explore…love! In all its magnificent shapes and colors! Enjoy, and may love find all of you dudes! loosely based off of a poem my grandmother wrote.

_I_ **  
**

Sometimes he does not remember his family back in Japan and his the life that was taken from him, replaced with something he never imagined, something so gruesome.

 

And sometimes that’s a lie because he remembers everything and  _too many_ things about the _‘before’._

 

Tigerclaw makes life out of before and out of after and everything else between, and tries to suppress whatever he can.

 

So he does not recall love, does not remember feeling, and in the center of a photography shop, on the corner of two streets, across from the old pizzeria, he almost becomes in touch with the familiarity of it all: this tightness, this found feeling. He likes to think he found only another war, another clan- somewhere easy so he can blend and hide into.

 

But they- this odd thing, this mitch match, thrown together, ragtag _thing-_ Tigerclaw does not know what to call it, and there is, on the moments his guard is down, some kind of spark that ignites parts of him he let die with all the memories and all those forgotten little stings. It all connects into a wave of electricity, reviving the emotions.

 

 

He smiles.

 

 

“This just won’t  _do,_ man…” Anton says, standing back to examine the house, lifting his glasses to squint up at the building, _“Look_ at this mess, Big S! Roofing- wrong. Too bland, too small. Nah, no, nope. Nadda, won’t do.  _Next!”_

Ivan smiles, nudging the realtor’s shoulder before treading on after him and their trail of animal friends, “He does have the taste for expensive things, eh?”

 

As embarrassing as it was to stand in the  _photography_  shop being asked  _so is there a convention in town or somethin’? you guys just…like…keep…like…those suits on..like…all day like..?_  Tigerclaw never thought househunting could top the humiliation. Because, for a reason he would never really understand, the rest of the bunch were alarmingly comfortable being out in public. 

They did stupid little things like going out to get ice cream in Central Park or hunting down the best places to buy Girl Scout cookies, or take evening walks to see who could get  _steps_  in first.

So they househunt all around the city; in and out, to the outskirts and in the heart of it.

 

(Tigerclaw finds out in the fourth hour that they were certainly very hard to satisfy, and that the terminology of many civilians revolved around ‘Furries’.

Said terminology of many civilians revolving around ‘Furries’ is, as it seems, often brought up around them, particularly.)

 

Brooklyn’s apartments are too small, Greenwich is too  _nice,_  nothing seems to fit Tigerclaw’s particular taste for space either (because, really, truly,  _honestly_ \- six and a half bathrooms? it is  _not_  that difficult) and they go through realtors like no man’s business, mostly because people just seem adverse to the idea of finding a suitable household for them.

Of course, they could have found another abandoned place to put their master in, Tigerclaw thinks, listening to another round of  _Summer Lovin’_  that Baxter started humming from the driver’s seat of their white van.

And, of course, they  _should_  have done that- with Saki on life support and everything, it seemed pretty smart to  _not_  be so meticulous about their temporary lodgings.

Also,  _of course,_  there was a less  _logical_  part of Tigerclaw that wouldn’t mind a home they could all live comfortably in for once.

 

He’s having some fun, anyway.

 

 

_This-_  is kind of nice.

 

He smiles over at Bradford; it’s small and barely there.

 

And thinks of their new home (They needed an indoor pool, six and a half- preferably one extra- bathroom, heated floors, a ballroom, a  _guest_  room and maybe, possibly  _if it was no trouble for anyone-_

A lovely torture room.

Also enough outlets for the life support and heart monitor and IV drip, not that it was a huge deal and all. Stockman was especially specific  about the size of lab space. It  _really_ wasn’t much that they were asking for.

After all, what was wrong with a family of eight dads and a child they were tirelessly, vengefully trying to force back into the mix of things?)- wherever it would be.

 

Tigerclaw kind of, sort of,  _maybe_  likes (loves) the idea of them as ‘family’.

Family looks for houses together and holds hands occasionally and eats ice cream-  _knows_  each other’s favorites without shame- and do fitbit challenges every month that people (Ivan) obviously, occasionally cheat on.

And so after Realtor Number  _Thirty-Nine_  (because who knew you’d go through  _that_ much to find decent living space) they finally come to the one place that seemed to have it all.

 

Secluded and right on the crumbling edge a cliff.

 

Yes, they would rebuild their little family there.

_Here._

 

One sickening murder and unhealthy dose of mutagen at a time.

 

They pay in the cash they’ve stolen and get the keys to their new place.

“Still,” Bradford says, unloading the U-haul truck, hoisting a box of classic 1982 Bradford and His Too Rough Crew tapes, “I would’ve been fine with a fixer upper.”

.

.

When all the boxes are in, they breathe.

Look out into the view and trees and that full moon that never, actually, went away.

 

_Ever._

 

And they watch Bradford’s shows, everyone except Xever, Anton, Stockman, Hun (surprisingly) and Bradford himself bemused by it.

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t  _matter_  how ridiculous they look, all sitting close on a rug, or how ridiculous the show was with its awkward product placements and cheesy one liners, because they were family.

Because a family can be a talking tiger, a big, stupid rhino and warthog, a genius bug, a fish and a bony wolf thing- and a human dude- and their delusional master that they’ll love without condition and without question. Family will be anything they  _make_  it out to be.

At least Tigerclaw thought so, somewhere deep and soft and warm in his heart, surrounded by the only people that ever loved what he became.

_(So, our love story starts with a little photo store on the corner of two streets, across from a pizzeria, a photo, of course and a family of eight dads.)_

* * *

 

_II_

_(And continues with a broken heart)_

His world got too crowded once, when the air was too heavy to breathe in and everything made him sick and left him  _hurting._

In his grieving heart, Leo thinks he does the right thing by running. He runs and runs and  _runs_  and no one knows _where_  he’s gone to; in the moment he steps outside of his own universe and into another, Leonardo regrets that selfishness. He’s a little scared that if he stays, he won’t ever _want_  to look back, and he’ll just keep  _running_ until he’s stretched himself across the unknown parts of the galaxy, and other universes beyond his own. 

 

And so, despite his fears and with his battered heart, Leo falls to the grass beneath him, in front of Usagi, his eyes swimming.

 

Maybe he should have never come and maybe he should go back and mourn the loss of his father with what is left of his family, and maybe this is  _all so wrong_  as it feels.

But Usagi kneels and his smile is enough to pick Leo’s head up. There’s something knowing in Usagi’s eyes, gentle, and hurting too- in the most pleasant way. And there are tears in his fur, and Leonardo is not quite sure if he is happy or angry or  _what he is,_ when his tears pool over, too.

It is spring in Usagi’s village, and the warm breeze passes through the little space left between them, drying their sorrow and replacing it with the warm, gentle feel of understanding and the comfort of  _having_ someone. Everything smells like flowers and Leo chokes on another sob that pushes up through a smile unsteady.

Usagi cups the back of his head and lowers him,  _grounds_  him; an aching, loving sigh escapes into the breeze with the fallen petals.

* * *

_III_

_(Love is by a firelight in the nighttime)_

Sometimes, life is made of the big things: like running from exploding buildings and cops in the cold, winter nights, the heat of a burning building and its fire lighting up the street and setting a thrill coursing through the air like electricity through clouds and it’s  _amazing._ And sometimes life is much, much smaller- and somehow even more magnificent that way. Small things are initiation parties and cooking poorly thrown together dinners, and teasing and hitting and  _yelling_  and holding and kissing (just sometimes, sweetly, quietly, kissing)- those are small and slow and lovely.

 

Like now.

 

Like sitting in a tightly closed circle around a bonfire of burning cigarettes and wood on top of an upside down, metal garbage can. Sally pulls Lindsey and Ray a little closer into her fold of blankets and Slash is their shield against the February wind.

It was Pete’s idea to come out, near the docks, the sun setting into the water, but everyone pretty much figured Hob decided the graham crackers were  _going_ to be cut into hearts even if it meant losing a few hours of  _sleep_  to perfect them.

 

“I mean…Pete always  _said_  he wann’ed one’a those…those uh…ya know? Them stupid arts and craft treats  he’s always on about an’ I figured we coul-”

 

“Hob…” Seymour says, and it’s quiet and bittersweet, his voice always strained,  _“Thank you.”_

Mondo raises a beer bottle and laughs into the frigid air, smoke pushing out into the fire, “We love you, dude- all the way,” he says, holding a stare on Hob, before looking at the rest of the crew, “Am I right? I mean, we got deep love for you- our  _valiant Cap’n!”_

There’s a chorus that follows- of  _here, here_ and  _yeah totally,_ and Sally smiles up at him, nudging Lindsey (who might be half asleep on her shoulder, not that Sally’d mind the drool rolling down her jacket or anything) to do the same.

 

And when she does, lopsided and with the most earnest Lindsey  _ever_ gave things, Hob smirks back. Somewhere in the city another helicopter lands, ready to track them and take them down, drag them back to the cages. Oh, they were sure this was the finale of it all.

 

Slash has a set stiffness to his face, and he holds his breath as Bishop’s men crash into the buildings around them.

 

Hob sneers around his can and looks to them all, a tight smile, “Our last supper, gang-” the footsteps are louder, pounding around them and Mondo turns the radio on, a sweet symphony crawling out of the dented speakers, “How fitting that we-”

 

Guns click and he winces, dropping his half eaten, perfectly carved s’mores, turning to Bishop’s soldiers.

 

“Well _, that-_  my friends- was all she wrote.” he grins over his shoulder and Sally catches his valiant look, her eyes swallowed into his as she nods, sliding her hand into the holster under her jacket.

 

And with the violins crescendo they fire their weapons.

Oh, in the firelight they look absolutely radiant- becoming all the big things and the small moments.

And they go down, like they always knew they would go, swinging.

 

Because they’re all freaks in a way, and love never really had the chance to worm its way into their hearts- cracked and chipped by the cruel way life rejected them. And that sucked. A lot.

But here, between heart-shaped s'mores and stolen beer, they found that lost thing called love; they found it in their smiles and in their laced fingers and tangled feet, in their jokes and banter.

In another reality, when the sun sets, they stay close, listening to the sound of sirens and the fire crackling, keeping them close and warm and loved.

In this one, their world melts away and only the symphony is left to greet the morning, the song playing over and over, by the docks.

 

The last of the firelight dwindling in the wind.

* * *

 

_IV_

_(Love…is finding it)_

 

The roof needs fixing, they all admit once the drip in the hallway became a deluge after another summer storm.

 

The farmhouse always  _needs_  something and they hammer down nails like stitching up quilts, adding patches and patterns. And there was something about Sundays in the summertime (and lakes that shimmer and blue skies) that pulls them away from the city and back out to their own little secret places.

Mikey thinks Woody might like it sometime, and Woody agrees that he most definitely _will_ and they count the road signs and miles it takes to get out of the noise and into that quiet hideaway.

 

(the farm is a total destresser, the quiescence something to marvel at, and Woody finds Mikey’s touch with nature to be wonderful, and is  _almost convinced_  once that Mikes could talk to squirrels  before Raph blows his cover. sometimes he still believes it)

 

So they unload the truck and haul the tools onto the roof and take turns sealing up the hole and try not to kill Donnie with any of said tools because he makes it his plan to walk around the farmhouse with a megaphone, shouting instructions; Donnie likes to be a jerk in all good and loving affection when the time is right.

His construction hat, like everyone else’s, is made from recycled soda cans.

 

So, they’re  _odd;_ in the craziest ways it all makes sense.

 

And Woody sits back, watching this perfect madness: April and Leo tan on the lawn, closest to the lake, reading magazines behind round sunglasses, (that Woody remembers Casey buying at Macy’s last week because April always wanted a pair (and, secretly, he knew Leo did too)) feeling, probably, very lavish; and Raph is hitting the hammer like one of those games at a carnival Woody remembers going to lifetimes ago, just to prove a point and _Mikey_ \- he’s smiling at the sun, bag of nails loose in his hands.

 

And, somehow, Woody feels like a ghost, like he’s watching this amazing thing blossom in front of him and he’s just on the fringes of it; he has never felt belonging and love this way, so tender and bright and new.

 

An unworthiness creeps up where his light is, and Woody climbs down the ladder and finds himself  minutes later, inside the house, lost and incredibly torn amidst the laughter and joy.

He’s almost surprised when Donnie finds him, standing in the middle if the living room, wringing his hands- and smirks like he’s got Woody  _all_ figured out.

.

.

“Now, this place- built in…eighteen- _seventy_  I think it was- it may seem incredibly…um, well rustic is being polite-” Donnie looks to Woody as they walk through narrow halls, catching Woody’s snort.

The place was old, and the floors creak with his careful steps.

“But it’s never once fallen apart on us. I-I mean…a few patches here and there but…” he takes a deep breath, and Woody breathes in the old altruism of it.

 

“It’s like a second home.”

 

Woody’s eyes glaze over every nail and peeling wallpaper, hands dug in the pockets of his cargo shorts as Don continues their little journey around the house, that dopey construction hat on still.

 

“Mikey started raising  _chickens_  here- they come back when he does:  _every_ summer,” Donnie says, and laughs as he turns to Woody with a something different in his eyes, “A-and…and I guess what I’m getting at is that home and finding it- it’s like a complicated map, right? Something you just don’t have- you have to search a little.”

 

Donnie shrugs lightly as he speaks, turning to Woody with another knowing smile.

“We found this place. We found it when we were beaten up- we still are, a little,” he says, “I guess the farmhouse  was, too. And we patched the small holes up when we could. And it’s still here…no matter who tried to take it down…” he continues in earnest, taking Woody’s hand and putting it onto the wall.

 

“And  _you-_  Woodrow Dirkins- are now apart of it. You can add nails in, fix the holes we couldn’t- make it yours. No matter what or who has a thing to say about it. Even yourself, man. You’re really loved around here, if you didn’t get the idea the  _first_ couple of months.”

 

Woody thinks about, blinks for a second, and doubles over laughing, some kind of relief washing over him. He doesn’t know why; he _knew_ this, somewhere.

 

But this is different.

 

And when they’re done laughing at all of this, Donnie leads Woody back outside, where he’s  meant to be.

Mikey beams from the roof, his mask around his neck, with a smile that says  _there you are,_  and Woody knows he is loved and he belongs.

 

 

Here, with his family.

* * *

 

_V_

_(Love is brothers)_

 

_“C’mon, Mikey! C’mon!”  
_

_“Leo, I literally can’t-”_

_“Pull it together cadet! I don’t want to hear that kind of talk out here!”_

 

Their shouts echo the lair and bounce off the walls of the abandoned subway station as April drops down from the rings of the ladder, pulling her hood back

Kicking off her rainboots, she leans against the couch and watches them all huddled over Mikey.

According to seventeen of Donnie’s texts, they were about to reach the ultimate high score which was pretty awesome and would then celebrate with pizza (or, regardless, there would be pizza) and then Casey sent a blurry picture with the caption:  _almost TheRE!_ so- she’s here.

When Mikey yanks the lever and lets it slam back against the pinball machine and the ball evades all traps and they’re punching buttons, the game buzzes and the boys- _her boys-_  shout and whoop and fall into a pile over Mikey, who’s got the biggest grin ever right about now.

 

And, yeah, they got the high score.

* * *

 

_VI_

_(And sisters)_

 

Karai kneels in front of them, her eyes apologetic and bright.

 

She doesn’t know how this all works, and if it will ever make the difference she means for it to make, but she’ll try a thousand times till she’s got it right.

 

Because that’s what her family does; they fight and fight  _harder_  and never quit on what they believe in- even the little things.

 

She raises her eyes to them and their dorky smiles that waver because maybe no one could believe it all was happening now.

_“I’m sorry…”_  Karai whispers, and it comes out more unsteady than she meant for it to be.

She wants to take it all back and start again thousands and thousands of miles away from where she is _now-_  on the floor below the family she never knew she wanted, and still didn’t know how to mend and shape herself into.

 

But they dive in and wrap around her anyway.

 

And in the days that turn to months and  _eternities,_ she learns love this way.

She cooks breakfast on the farm with her little brother and spars with Raph, welds with Donnie and teaches him what she knows about it, watches cartoons with Leo and  _smiles;_  they treat her well, and Karai isn’t sure how to respond to all their unconditional love.

So she tries another thing, in the quiet of another summer night, in the middle of the living room, and says thank you-

-to them, to the universe, to her father.

* * *

 

__

_VII_

                                                                       _(Those we hold so close….)_

 

Shini climbs down from the fire escape, her body twisting around the cool metal and slips through the window.

 

April is where she knows she’ll be, sitting on the floor, a magazine suspended inches from her face and the hot chocolate floating just below her lips that curve in a knowing smile, and  _heeeyy Shin!_  bubbles from them, her voice like a little raspy song; it washes over Shinigami and the tide of it all wraps around her and pulls her feet forward, pushing her into the room.

 

She goes to ask where Karai is hidden before she’s attacked from behind, arms slick with scales pull at hers and she’s on her back, on April’s bed, on top of the  _millions_  of pillows Karai bought.

Breathlessly, Shini laughs and darts her eyes at April and Karai who’s effortlessly switching forms.

She could say things- a million  _i hate you’s_  or ten thousand  _i love you’s_ \- or she could soak it in instead this time, soak up when Karai kicks April to the side to put another worn out vhs in and April sticks her lollipop dyed tongue out and she can soak it all up and  _breathe_  and not think of what seems like a hundred light years and eons away- so far back to when she was without, and when she was just alone; or so far into the future that it begins to accelerate her  _heart._

But the future was too far, and those dark memories she shuts away-

-and soaks it all in, closing her eyes.

 

_Tomorrow, though?_  They’ll run away in a stolen van.

* * *

 

   _VIII_

_(Those so, so, so far away)_

 

In some pretty place in the galaxy sits a warrior and the other half of his heart, Raph believes on the worst days, when he just wants to go and drown in the amplified beatings of his drums.

When he drums he thinks of her, and of him- of them together.

He plays harder and harder and everything comes bursting out when his sticks hit the bass. Every moment, as small as they were, floods his mind and breaks his heart and maybe he’s still a kid and this is what angst and _revelling_  in it feels like; Raph doesn’t know.

But he plays on.

 

Moves on.

 

His heart expands and new love blossoms from the cracks.

 

But in that pretty place in the galaxy, a piece of him still floats in zero gravity.

Melted and fused with another.

* * *

 

_IX_

_(So love is a lot of things? Can do a lot of things?)_

 

Funny stories make April snort.

Casey will live on forever and ever if it meant he could _hear_  it again.

She always stopped, right when it was coming out. She’d cover her mouth and stifle it into her freckled hands outside of a 7/11, her face covered in white powder from those donuts.

 

And, Casey, if he thinks hard enough, can feel the sugar on his face and not the ash from a crumbled building and he smells her perfume instead of dead bodies.

 

He wants to tell her a story- a funny one ( _remember when you told me_ not _to be stupid and selfless and reckless…haha…oops. babe. look what i did!)_ and hear her snort at him, see those laughter lines and freckles sparkle and not this darkness.

April’s laugh was so  _amazing,_  and Casey pushes the bricks away as the world and his prospective rights itself.

And, god, if he can’t  _walk-_  if his legs are as broken as they _feel-_  then he’ll crawl to her.

* * *

 

_X_

_(Can it heal us? Mend us?)_

 

“Alo…we can give this a break, if it’s too much,” Angel says, the front of her helmet shooting to reveal full lips parted in a heart filled with concern and the gentle prying of her worry only makes this worse, in a twisted sort of way.

 

So Alopex pushes off from the floor and shakes her head, willing the words to push past the barrier in her throat. But nothing happens. Like nothing ever happens. And maybe she’s so  _sick_  of running and trying and falling and the  _im okay_ of life that never measured up  _anyway_  and she  _screams._

 

Alopex screams because nothing else will work; she does not expect Angel to flinch away from this- from her- but she still feels warmth softly grace her body when Angel doesn’t. When she stands there with something solid and loving and understanding. 

 

If hugs are ever warranted, they both know, without a word, that it’s now.

 

And she thrusts herself forward, stumbling on her feet, falling into Angel.

  
Her sobs are dry and Angel’s are tenderly dropping onto her head.

Things might never,  _ever_ get to the way she’s been dreaming, and there will always be the tainted parts of her mind, but a hug can chase it away, for now.

* * *

 

 

_Yes…yes. Love is a powerful thing, my darling._

_Love, like photography shops and buildings on the edge of cliffs and clouds and rainbows and stars and the galaxy and other worlds across it, comes in many, many shapes and amazing colors, terrifyingly complex and odd sizes that at the shortest of glances seems like it just wont fit right in the wonderfully complicated puzzle that is life._

_(A rose explodes and time passes, lovers come and go.)_

_But love is what it is, what it’s been, and no soul- as much as they fight and run and push away- can live without it._

_That’s just the plain truth of hearts and minds._

**Author's Note:**

> wooh that was fun! please remember to leave kudos and comments


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